conversations about addiction, recovery, and faith
This past week, I reached an age I’ve been dreading. No, it’s not 50. But I’ve spent months avoiding thinking about this birthday, so there was quite a bit of angst in the days leading up. I made good use of my pensive reflectiveness and …
One day, my memory will be even worse. And I will be the lady with the cats and the books and the unruly garden, living on spinach dip and tortilla chips and feeding Dave TV dinners.
I figure I’m right in the middle of the August of life, which is still summer, if you know what I mean.